


Way Back Home

by matildajones



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, End Sterek, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, PTSD Derek, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, We like Heather though, getting better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2694572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matildajones/pseuds/matildajones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t ever expecting to get out of that hellhole, and he always wondered about Stiles. He wondered – even hoped – that he would move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Way Back Home

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to [foreverblue-navy](http://foreverblue-navy.tumblr.com) for looking over this fic for me and for being super lovely.
> 
> This fic is basically about everyone healing and supporting each other. There are no descriptions of what happened to Derek and the story starts when he wakes up in the hospital, after he is found.

 When Derek wakes his throat is dry, his head spinning a little from the bright inside light. He tries to move, feel his surroundings, but the thin blankets are a lot tighter and restricting than he's used to.

 A soft chill runs over him as he begins to panic, and he tries to thrash around but there's a head resting just by his legs.  He stills, because it's Stiles, and he's here, and Derek thought he'd never see him again.

 There's a shuffle at the edge of the room and Derek's eyes snap up to a blonde woman he doesn't recognise. She's eyeing him almost wearily, offering the smallest of smiles to Derek before she starts rubbing Stiles' shoulder.

 "Stiles," she whispers, like she knows him. Derek looks on until he stirs, and Stiles groans before looking up at the woman.

 "Hey," Stiles croaks out, and Derek can feel his own breath start to shake. Stiles grabs her hand and links their fingers together and Derek can't tell who is comforting who.

 The woman sighs, removes her hand from Stiles' hold and points at Derek. He sees the flash of a ring.

 Stiles turns, and there are those warm brown eyes that kept Derek company in the dark, there are those soft pink lips that used to smile just for Derek. His heart rate picks up as their gazes lock and Stiles pretty much falls off the seat he's sitting on.

 "Fuck," he swears. "Derek?" His voice is frantic as he scrambles to his feet, eyes wide with worry. "Derek, God, Derek, I can't believe you're even alive."  His hands reach out, hover near his face, but he falters. "Can I touch you?" he whispers.

 Derek nods, trying to feel calm now that Stiles is here. Cold fingers touch his cheeks, over his freshly shaved face, and Derek presses into the touch.

 "Derek..." Stiles’ voice breaks. "You're here." They stare at each other a moment and Derek can't bring himself to move.  "Hey," he whispers. "You're safe now, I'm here, and you're safe and I'm going to look after you, okay? You want some water?"

 Derek nods and with a small smile Stiles reaches for the glass on the bedside table. He brings the fluid to Derek's lips and the water down his throat feels cold and better than anything he's had in a while. Some of it spills down his chin but Stiles wipes it away, relief clear throughout his face.

 "Stiles," Derek manages.

 "I'm here," he says, and now his eyes look wet. Derek starts to pull back the sheets, kicking them with his legs and Stiles catches on and helps.

 Then the doctor comes in, followed by that woman and Derek stops paying attention to whatever they're saying.

 When the doctor comes over, ready to prod him with something, Derek lurches away before his muscles pull tight and freeze up. Stiles quickly grabs his hand, and Derek relaxes, if only for a moment.

 "It's alright, I promise," and Stiles strokes small circles onto his hand, his voice crackly but soothing, and Derek gives in, like he always does, and soon his eyes feel heavy and he falls asleep.

\+ +

Weeks pass. People come in and talk to him, but if they're too near, too soon, Derek begins to lash out and they have to sedate him. The next time he wakes he's in restraints and Stiles looks angry about it.

 Psychiatrists try and talk to him but he says nothing. The police come in – no one he recognises – and Stiles is with him, looking sick, and it's only when he's there that Derek can give yes or no answers. His voice is raspy. He's told he's been gone for two years and three months.

 Stiles is there more often than not, though the blonde woman from before isn't.

 When Derek wakes to Stiles slumped over the bed, Derek runs a hand over his head and twists his fingers in Stiles' hair. He remembers having his own head in Stiles' lap, when they would laugh quietly about nothing.

 Derek drops his hand away when the door creaks open. It's the blonde woman.

 She sighs. "There he is."

 Derek stares up at her, wordless and expression tight. Their eyes meet for a second and she stutters, carefully shaking Stiles awake.

"Stiles, we have dinner with your father in half an hour," she tells him.

 He sits up, rubbing his eyes and glancing at Derek. "What?" he says to her.

 "Dinner, with John?”

"Uh, right." He turns to Derek, and he smiles. "Hey, you're awake."

 Derek gives him a pointed look.

 Stiles flushes. "Um, Derek, this is Heather." He starts to mumble. "She's my fiancée."

 Derek looks up at her and she smiles a little. He's thrown by the abrupt sound of the chair screeching against the floor, and they hear his heart rate speed up on the monitor.

"Five minutes?" Stiles pleads with her.

 She nods.

 Stiles’ face is pale when he turns back. "Derek, I, I thought you were dead. I was a mess after you left. Heather - I love her too - she helped me get better."

 Derek blinks and gives him a blank look. "It's fine."

 He sees Stiles' hand creep forward, but Derek doesn't go out to reach it. Derek leans back into the pillows and Stiles stares at him with sad eyes, lost for words.

 "I'm still going to be here for you," he says finally. "I need you to be okay. I need you to have someone."

 Derek is far from okay. He feels hollow inside, like he's still inside that cage.

 Stiles leans forward and presses his lips to Derek's temple. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'll be here tomorrow."

 "After your work."

 Stiles is standing and he turns around in surprise. Derek only speaks to him, and always very little.

"I don't want you to lose your job for me."

"After work then," he promises, before sliding out the door.

 Derek doesn't cry. Even though tubes keep him hydrated and his body is healing, he doesn't have the energy to produce tears. He never deserved Stiles anyway.

\+ +

They want him to shave his face again but Derek won't let anyone touch him and they don't trust him with a blade.

 Stiles comes in later that week with a small grin on his face. Derek is unsteady when he steps off the bed before almost slipping into the wheelchair.

 "You good?" Stiles asks.

 Derek glares at him and starts to wheel himself towards the bathroom. He hears Stiles' sad chuckle.

 "Come on, big guy, never thought I'd see that glare again."

 He's no longer a big guy. He's awfully skinny compared to what he once was but Derek likes the familiarity of the term. It reminds him of better times.

 Stiles is careful when he shaves Derek's face. His fingers linger at his hairline, and Stiles talks to him, careful and voice full of affection.

 "You want to come home?" Stiles asks.

 "Home?"

"Yeah," he smiles. "Heather is there but the house is still half yours, Der. You can stay with us. I want you to stay with us."

 "With your fiancée?" Derek couldn't possibly understand how she could be okay with that.

 Stiles shrugs, starts to hum. "There we are," he says, wiping Derek's face.

\+ +

 Derek can hear them muttering in low voices. They think he's sleeping, or he was, and they stand just by the door. The room is dark.

 "Stiles, you need to sleep at home. You can't be here all the time."

 "I," Stiles' voice falters. "I'm sorry. I just want him to be okay. He doesn't seem okay, we don't know what he's been through... Heather."

 Her voice is soothing as she consoles him and Derek tries to push back the darkness creeping in on him. He's still going to be alone.

 "Hey, it's okay, alright? When the doctor says he's ready he can stay with us. I promise," she says. "I know you say that all he's got is you."

"He has you too, right?" Stiles asks in a low voice.

 "Yeah," Heather tells him. "Of course."

\+ +

 Stiles' grin is almost too cheerful the next morning. He stops in for half an hour before he goes to work. Heather comes in on days that Stiles can't, and it's awkward. Derek pretends to sleep most of the time.

"I hate hospitals," he says under his breath. Stiles turns to him.

 "I remember," he replies. He comes to the edge of the bed, sits down, careful not to touch Derek now unless he asks to. "You know, if you talk to your psychiatrists you'll get out of here faster."

 Derek looks away. It’s clear that he’s bent and broken, and now Stiles is with Heather and Derek has nothing to offer.

 "Just an idea," Stiles says lightly. "If you're not comfortable... then don't."

 Derek grunts.

\+ +

 He talks the next time. Says how he is. Fine. And then every day after that he responds with fine. Fine is a lie that he used to say before, too. Even in the dark. It's routine. Derek likes routine. He likes it when Stiles drops by. When it's Heather, he doesn't like it so much.

 Heather brings scrabble the next time she’s there, and the time after that. It's good. Quiet. It’s something they can play in silence. A few weeks later she puts down a word and Derek stares at it. A shiver runs over him and he begins to shake. It's not long before a nurse rushes in and tries to calm him. They inject him with something and he feels the weight of drugs push him down.

 When he wakes Stiles is there, reading to him. It's his favourite novel, a comfort. Derek lies there and listens. Heather doesn't come for a while after that.

\+ +

 “You shouldn’t come here so often,” Derek tells him one morning, toneless. He pretends not to notice the glimmer of hurt resting on Stiles’ face before he hides it well. He cracks a small smile and steps towards the bed. Stiles sits on the bottom corner.

 He seems to take a few breaths. “I have to, Der, I have to. I – I sometimes I’m not sure you’re even here, and that I’m imagining it all.”

 Derek tries to swallow. He feels like that sometimes, like he might wake up and be enveloped in darkness. In truth, Derek wants Stiles here all the time. A few people from the station came to visit him but Derek spent the time in near silence, eyeing his old colleagues’ guns sitting in their holsters. They say it’s a fucking miracle that he’s back, except they’ve probably read the report. Derek wonders if they think he’s better off dead.

 “But you came back to me,” Stiles whispers, inching near. Derek stares back at him. They’re not each other’s anymore, he knows that, but he knows that at least he’s still Stiles’. He only trusts Stiles.

 Stiles’ phone goes off and he mouths _Heather._ Derek turns his head to the window.

\+ +

 "How did you meet?" Derek asks her, just after she places down her tiles. The Scrabble is back and the words are now only words.

 Her lips part in surprise. "What?"

 Derek stares at her.

 "At the library. We were looking for the same book."

 Derek stays quiet.

 "I really do care about him, Derek. And he told me all he could about you when he thought you were gone. I know how important you are to each other," she says. "I'm not trying to keep you away from him."

 Derek looks at her. Her skin is pale and pretty. "Triple word," he says, placing his tiles down. She raises an eyebrow. He wonders if Stiles told her how he could be a little shit just as much as him.

\+ +

 He has a small weight on his lap and it’s the latest version of laptops these days. The screen comes off and Derek can touch it to make it work. Stiles sets up the call, looking nervous. Once the connection is secure he only has to wait half a minute before the video call starts to ring.

 Derek looks up at Stiles and he nods.

 Fighting back a sigh, he hits the accept button. Erica’s eyes are wide when she stares back at him and Derek has never seen her cry before. He doesn’t want to, especially now, but her eyes glisten a little.

 “Oh thank God,” she says, collapsing over the desk. Derek sees an unfamiliar hand reach out to her shoulder, dark skinned in the crappy quality of her camera, and with it she sits up again. She clears her throat. “I know you don’t want to hear this but I’m so fucking sorry Derek. I’m sorry I said we should split up and I’m sorry I let them get you and I’m sorry I didn’t find you. I’m just real sorry,” she mumbles.

 Derek tunes her words out a little. Erica’s was the last friendly face he saw before he went to the dark, had been his partner in the force, but it’s definitely not her fault. Derek’s glad it was him not her. She stops her apologies and Derek notices that her hair has grown out.

 “Okay, I’m done,” she says with a small grin, and she promptly pulls a man into the picture. Derek sees a glimpse of a ring and he wonders if everyone he knows is going to get married. “This is Boyd. We met here in Paris.”

 “Paris?”

 She seems to relax now that he’s spoken a little. Stiles had probably told her that he doesn’t like to talk much these days, or maybe Erica’s figuring it out for herself. Either way, she continues and doesn’t expect Derek to offer much.

 “Yeah, I got a job here. After the investigation ran cold I had to get away,” she bites her lip and Derek glares at her before she can apologise again. Erica grins. “Sorry for leaving your man, but I couldn’t look him in the eye.”

 He feels Stiles’ gaze drop to the floor and Derek watches him move slowly to the door. Stiles offers him a weak smile before disappearing and when he comes back Erica has told him all about where she is – how she’s happy – and Stiles has two small tubs of chocolate pudding.

 Derek’s remains untouched, as always, but Stiles still brings them.

 “Good talk?” he asks.

 Derek looks up at him.

 “Good listen?” Stiles amends.

 Derek shrugs. It had been nice seeing his partner, but his life from before doesn’t exist anymore. He has Stiles but he doesn’t have Stiles, he has a home but apparently someone else is living in it.

\+ +

 It's another month before they let him leave the hospital. Three times a week he has to go to his doctor or therapist. He's been telling her about his day. She says he's making progress. Derek doesn't feel it so much.

 "Um," says Stiles, rushing around him. "I never really got rid of any of your stuff, it's all here. Your clothes might be a little big, though. We set up the spare bedroom - if that's okay. Heather and I can move downstairs if you like, and you can have what's familiar?"

 "It's fine, Stiles." Derek eyes the house. It looks the same but it doesn't quite feel like the home Stiles promised. He sees some of Heather's things.

 Stiles drops his bags on the floor. "Can I please hug you?"

 Derek stares back at him, and gives the hint of a nod. Stiles releases a breath and lurches forward, tripping into Derek's arms. They hold each other and he can hear Stiles sniffing.

 "Sorry," he mumbles. "Sometimes I just can't believe that you're here."

 Derek's hold tightens. He craved this, when he was in the dark.

 They break away after ten minutes or so. Stiles gives him a wet smile. "Food?"

\+ +

 It's cold that night. He never realised the guest room could get so chilly. Derek doesn't sleep. At three in the morning he shuffles along the corridor and tries to find the spare blankets, rustling around where they used to be but he only sees yoga gear.

 He wasn’t ever expecting to get out of that hell hole, and he always wondered about Stiles. He wondered – even hoped – that he would move on. Be happy. Derek was never enough for him anyway. It still doesn’t change the fact that he feels a little pushed aside. Heather has been fine to be around, but Derek feels a small part of himself crumble away as he stares at the pink and purple mats.

 Derek stands in the hallway, staring at the cupboard for at least twenty minutes. Once he snaps out of his thoughts, a hard thing to do, he wanders aimlessly back to his new room. It’s clean. Different to where he’d been staying.

 His footsteps make the floor creak and just after he makes it past the stairs, someone’s at the top. Stiles. His voice fumbles with sleep. “Der?”

 They stare up at each other, the whites of Stiles’ eyes catching against the little light in the hallway. He reaches for the switch and Derek has to blink hard when the light turns on.

 “You okay?”

 “Cold.”

 “Oh, sorry, I’m sorry,” he splutters. “I didn’t realise ... we moved the blankets to the spare room. So they’re where you’re sleeping, anyway.”

 Derek doesn’t say anything, but he follows Stiles to his bedroom. The top shelf in the wardrobe holds the blankets where Derek hasn’t put away any of his clothes yet. Stiles pulls out all of them and carefully spreads it across Derek’s single mattress. He sits, knee bouncing slightly as he stares up at Derek.

 “You need anything else?”

 Derek shrugs and Stiles bites his lip.

 “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, standing and moving to the door. Stiles can’t seem to help himself brushing his hand against Derek as he passes, and the contact helps them both. Stiles is here, he’s here, and when Derek closes his eyes he’s still going to be here.

 + +

 Sometimes Stiles has to call his name more than once before Derek actually hears it. He gets lost in his own head, and Derek’s not sure what he thinks of. The days when he hadn’t been here have blurred so thickly into each other that he only has a few select memories that he can differentiate from any other.

 Stiles learns not to touch him until he has his attention. Otherwise, Derek jolts into a small panic and one afternoon he ends up banging his head forward and Stiles gets a bloody nose. Derek didn’t tell Heather, but now they’re both extra careful not to make any sudden movements.

 The more Derek watches, the more he sees that Heather is good for Stiles. He sees Stiles smile a lot, and she teases him. He thinks him being here is easier for Heather than she thought it would be. For the most part, Derek acts like he’s not there at all.

 He’s checked on all the time. He can’t help but notice it. Derek expects it, though, and they’re not very subtle. Stiles’ morning break is normally between ten and eleven. He hides his obvious check up, asking about something trivial, asking if they need any more milk. Heather rings in the afternoon, probably at Stiles’ request. Maybe she doesn’t want Stiles to come home to Derek if he’s done something. Everyone knows he’s only vaguely stable, but Derek feels too empty to do anything.

\+ +

 “Where’s Scott?” he says idly, breaking the dinner table conversation he hadn’t been listening to. Stiles freezes at the end of the table, and Heather starts to pick at her food.

“Um,” Stiles says, voice strained. “I think he’s still working at the vet.”

 Derek blinks at up at him, but Stiles is carefully avoiding his gaze. His cheeks have turned red and after a few seconds Derek returns to his food. The next day, after Heather’s call, Derek leaves the house. It’s the first time he’s gone anywhere on his own. He feels alone, feels like someone might be following him. The sensation prickles over him, but he steps forward, one foot in front of the other, and keeps his head down. No one dares look at him, not when there’s such a scowl on his face.

 When he reaches the old balcony, the rusting one that Derek had pushed Stiles up against so many times after leaving Scott’s half drunk, he pauses to catch his breath. The evening is darkening and Derek is sure he’s alone.

 He knocks on the door and his heart feels flat when the wooden door swings open. Scott stands, cash in his hand like he’s expecting takeout. He blinks, eyelids fluttering madly and Derek notices his trimmed beard. Then he fucking faints. Derek sighs, reaching down and lugging Scott over his shoulder. It takes some effort. He’s still not nearly as strong as he once was but he’s been doing some exercises at the house.

 “Scott, is that the pizza?” he hears, and Allison steps into the room, taking out an earring. Her mouth gapes, face going even paler.

 “Allison?” It’s definitely a surprise. He remembers Scott going through the divorce. There had been many tears and beers and Scott and Stiles yelling at television screens as they battled their characters against each other. Stiles had grinned sadly at Derek, climbing into bed with him that night, saying sorry for having to look after Scott. Now Derek is the one sleeping in the spare room.

 She ignores Scott, and tentatively steps towards Derek. Allison had always been a little stronger than Scott, but Derek supposes he had been presumed dead.

 “You – you’re okay?” she whispers, and she flings herself forward, arms around his neck. He’s expecting the sudden movement. Derek can feel her trying not to sob. They had always been friends. “How are you alive?” she cries, kissing his cheek. “Derek...”

 Derek shrugs, patting her awkwardly on the back. Allison steps away.

 “Back together?”

 She blushes. “For a few months.”

 He turns to Scott and they wait for him to wake up. The pizza comes and Allison offers Derek a slice. He takes it, but can only eat it in small bites. Scott begins to stir, mumbling out loud.

 “Shit, Ali,” they hear, “I swear – it was so weird – and my heart fucking just jumped out of my chest.” He rubs his eyes, sitting up before they settle on Derek again. Scott yelps. “Fuck!”

 Derek takes another bite of his pizza.

 “Derek?” Scott scrambles from the couch until he’s hovering right in front of him. Derek leans away, not liking him this close. “You’re not dead! You’re not dead, shit, fuck, god. God. What are you doing here?” He yanks himself back. “Did Stiles send you?”

 “Scott!”

 He backs away, a little sheepish. “Um,” he says. “It’s good news you’re not dead. You look pretty much like shit.”

 Allison’s breath in seems strained. Derek doesn’t answer any of Scott’s questions; especially when they’re leaving his mouth a mile a minute. He looks close to passing out again.

 “It’s like having a ghost here,” he says, eyes wide.

 Derek stares at him. If a ghost is a shell of a living person then it’s a pretty apt description. Allison asks him how long he’s been back. “A few months.”

 Scott looks down at his hands. “That’s probably why Stiles has been calling once a week lately,” he mumbles. Allison leans over and squeezes his shoulder.

 Derek stares at them both expectantly.

 “Um, we had a falling out.”

 “I haven’t got much out of him,” Allison says to Derek, staring at Scott worriedly.

 Scott groans, and it looks like he’s searching for words. He scratches at the hair on his face and Derek is wondering what could’ve possibly happened to make Scott and Stiles fall out. And then what happened for Allison and Scott to get back together.

 “He was kind of a stupid mess after you went missing. And then you were presumed dead and shit and Stiles didn’t even want to get out of bed. He didn’t go to work. He didn’t let anyone in the house and he said nasty things. We tried to ignore it,” Scott says, “we made sure he ate. Got his washing done. He didn’t appreciate it, told us all the time how he wanted to be alone. Yeah,” he sighs. “And he uh, he drank quite a bit.”

 Derek didn’t ever think himself gone would be worth so much. He waits for Scott to continue.

 “We got fighting, he said some stuff about why Allison left me,” he starts to bite his fingernails. “I guess it struck a nerve.”

 Scott laughs nervously and Derek can see the way he flushes.

 “I may have said something along the lines of how you left so that you could get away from him,” he mumbles. “He threw the bottle of Jack at my head, I had to get stitches, and we haven’t spoken since. Is, is he okay?”

 “He’s getting married.”

 Allison and Scott exchange glances.

 “What?”

 Derek leans back into the couch, suddenly resigned. But it’s nice not having all the drama be solely about him. He’s sad that Stiles has lost Scott as a friend, but he and Allison were Derek’s friends too. It would be nice to have them near now that sometimes, sometimes it’s hard looking at Stiles and knowing that he can’t have him.

 “What’s – what’s their name?” Allison asks.

 “Heather.”

 “Sucks man,” says Scott. “For her and for you. Is he still going to marry her?”

 Derek stares at him flatly, blinking down at his plate. He feels oddly content here, even though he only ever completely felt that way when Stiles was here too. Scott’s face turns empathetic.

 “And you’re staying with them?”

 “Nowhere else,” Derek grunts. And even though it’s sometimes hard, Derek doesn’t want to be too far from Stiles. Even if he is getting married. Derek just wants him happy. He’s feeling a little exhausted – not because of how late it is, he hardly ever sleeps – but from how much he’s spoken, not that he’s said very much. He looks at the clock. “He’s probably wondering where I am.”

 Allison looks at him. “Let’s drop you home.”

 “The car is at the garage,” Scott tells her. Derek settles more comfortably in the couch, turning his head in the direction of the tv even though nothing’s playing. He hears Scott groan. “He’s probably shitting himself because he doesn’t know where you are, isn’t he?”

 Derek says nothing. Allison straightens a little, perching herself on the edge of her seat. She opens her mouth to speak but finds using no words is more effective. She rises, gracefully, and pulls the bedroom door shut behind her.

 Scott glares at them both and then stomps over to the phone. He can hear the ringing, almost a frantic hum, and then Stiles picks up the phone. “Dad, can’t talk right now,” they hear him rush out. “I’m looking for –”

 “He’s here,” barks Scott, and there’s an abrupt silence on the other side of the earpiece.

 “ _Scott?_ ”

 He scowls and lurches the phone away from his ear. He stares at it for a moment, slightly frazzled, and then Scott cuts the call and slams the phone down, falling with a huff to the couch. He folds his arms. “Stop looking so self-satisfied,” he growls. Derek folds his arms too.

 It’s not fifteen minutes before they hear an insistent knock on the door. Scott stares at him, but Derek finds something on the wall to interest him. He gets shot a dirty look, and the bedroom door gets one too before Scott shuffles to the door and pulls it open.

 All he hears is quiet.

 “Stiles,” Scott grits out.

 Out of the corner of his eye, Derek can see Stiles’ hung open lips; can see his bright and worried eyes. He sees Stiles deflate in relief when he spots Derek sitting on the couch.

 “Derek, um, let’s go,” he says. Derek ignores him, and Scott rolls his eyes.

 “He’s being a little shit,” grumbles Scott and he leaves the door wide open and sprawls himself out on the couch. Derek doesn’t meet either pair of eyes, and with a stubborn scowl Stiles stomps himself over to them. He gives Derek a dirty look, all concern lost now that he knows he’s okay.

 Their silence is stupid. At least, Derek thinks so, and if he can do this he guesses he’s done something good for Stiles. He wants things to be good for Stiles.

 “So,” Scott finally says. “Been a while.”

 “Has it?” Stiles shoots back.

 “And you’re getting married.”

 “Yes,” he says, stiffly.

 “I’m with Allison again,” Scott tells him. Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise.

 “Really?”

 Scott throws a cushion at him but Stiles just bats it away.

 “Sorry,” he mumbles. Scott glares at him. “Sorry,” he says louder, clearer. Stiles drops his head to his hands. “Sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

 Their eyes lock and Derek sees the both of them deflate a little. It’s honestly this simple, but once one of them doesn’t want to talk, Derek knows that without the right nudge at least Stiles is too stubborn for his own good.

 “Me too,” Scott croaks, glancing at Derek. “Me too.”

 Derek stands and heads outside to the car. They both watch him go and it’s five minutes later that Stiles is rushing outside, panting a little. He pauses a few steps from the car and stares at Derek. The cool air sweeps around Stiles’ hair, and the bottom of his shirt wrinkles in the breeze.

 “I hate you,” he says and then he launches himself at Derek. It takes him at least a minute to respond given the sudden attack. Stiles is not a danger, far from it, and Derek slowly wraps his arms around Stiles, pulling him up a little so it isn’t just a human body sagging against him. He feels Stiles sob quietly into his chest, and Derek is tempted to card his fingers through his hair but decides against it.

 Stiles pulls back and wipes his eyes.

 “You must think it’s so fucking stupid, not talking to Scott,” he says. Derek just looks at him. “I, uh, I wasn’t trying to keep him from you because we weren’t talking. I – I tried to contact him. Heather’s been trying to get me to go over for a while now too.”

 Derek swallows. “You drank.”

 He nods miserably. “Heather really helped me get my act together.”

 Derek doesn’t say anything and pulls the car door open, watching Stiles rush around. They drive back to the house in silence and Heather is waiting for them in the kitchen. Her eyes search for Stiles’ first and when he nods she relaxes.

\+ +

 There’s a loud crash in the kitchen and a tonne of swearing. Derek’s eyes dart up and Stiles is nursing a burnt hand, a casserole dish of lasagne all over the floor. The sound is still ricocheting through him, nesting in the pores of his skin and he can’t breathe. It’s too sudden, too loud, and the pink rising on Stiles’ hand is too familiar.

 The burn doesn’t look too bad and Stiles is already rinsing it under a steady stream of water but it’s still an injury no matter how he got it. He feels sweat start to soak up his clothes and once the two have stopped fussing over the burn and the spilt food they finally get a look at Derek.

 He may be shaking, but he’s not sure.

 “Derek?” Stiles asks, immediately concerned and Derek chooses that moment to get the hell out of there. He climbs messily to his feet and darts off down the hall and to the spare room. Once he’s out of there he slams his door shut, locks it, and sinks to the floor.

 He puts his head in his hands and the edge of his vision is dotted with black. He hears Stiles’ voice but it’s faint, like Derek’s mind is pulling away from everything. His chest feels heavy and after what seems like hours, he blinks, and his head has started to clear.

 Derek sits up and rubs his eyes, his whole body stiff. He hears Stiles’ mumbled words from the other side of the door.

 “Look, Der, I just got to know how you’re doing,” he says, and Derek wonders how long he’s been sitting there, “just tell me something so I know, okay? Please.”

 “Stiles...” he hears Heather’s voice.

 “I’m not moving until I know he’s okay,” Stiles snaps at her and then it’s quiet for a few moments. “Sorry,” he sighs, “but we haven’t heard much and he’s Derek, you know? I need him to be okay.”

 Heather pauses, and Derek strains to hear her next words. “I know. I’m worried too. I’ll go get you a fresh ice pack for your hand.”

 He hears Heather move away and suppressing a groan he gets to his feet. Derek flicks the lock open, his head still woozy, and he pulls the door open. Stiles scrambles to his feet in an instant, and his eyes are wide and red.

 “Derek?”

 “I’m fine.”

 Stiles’ face looks tired and he reaches out his hand but pulls away at the last second. He looks like he might like to protest but he settles with a nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”

 Derek doesn’t even bother making a noncommittal grunt. He closes the door to hide Stiles’ face because if it wasn’t clear before that he’s a burden, it is now. He peels off his damp shirt and flings it to the floor. Derek collapses on his bed and pulls the covers over his shoulders.

 He wants Stiles here, with him. Derek wants to hold something concrete. He’s left that place but he feels like he doesn’t have anything here. He loves Stiles but God, he isn’t here. He’s with Heather.

 Even though he’s exhausted he doesn’t sleep. He finds that he can only sleep three or four hours a night anyway and it’s not enough. It’s all Derek can manage, though, because the darkness tends to creep in. Derek keeps his light on, always, and maybe he’s reminded that he’s in his old home, sleeping on an actual mattress.

 Later, when he hears the two go to bed, he gets to his feet and walks quietly down the hall and up the stairs. Derek listens to Stiles’ soft snores for a few minutes before he heads downstairs and turns on the television. He tunes into a cooking channel and he spends most of the night learning about the best ways to cook chicken. It’s distracting enough.

\+ +

 His chest feels like something heavy is sitting on it. Derek’s lungs pull together so tight they burn, a sick heat travelling through his body as he tries to fight being taken, being caught, tries to fight the feel of a cold, hard ground underneath him.

 The cold creeps up his arms, trickling over his skin like icy water and then there are words, a muffled string of words coming in from the edge of the darkness and Derek blinks his eyes open. He’s breathing heavily, sweat over him, and the press of fingertips against his skin pulls him back from his dreaming.

 “Derek, you’re alright, you’re here,” says the voice, a constant, and Derek tries to climb his way out of his sheets before he realises where he is. He’s not sure if he’s been yelling or if he’s been dead silent, but his vision is prickling with water and he throws himself back to the mattress.

 When he gets his breathing under control his eyes flutter open and Heather is there, still talking soothingly. Their eyes meet and she reaches out her hand again, stopping before it gets to Derek.

 “Stiles,” he rasps, searching her face.

 “He’s still upstairs,” Heather says quickly. “Sleeping.”

 Derek nods and starts to kick the sweaty sheets off him. He can’t look her in the eye anymore. He doesn’t want to talk about this with anyone; he doesn’t want to appear vulnerable in front of a woman he barely knows.

 She moves away without a word and a few minutes later she returns with an arm full of fresh sheets and a glass of water. They work silently to remake the bed and through it all Derek feels his cheeks go hot. He swallows the water all in one go and Heather stops by the door before she leaves.

 “Does this happen every night?” she asks softly.

 Derek shrugs.

 Nights go by when nothing happens because Derek doesn’t let it. He’ll push away sleep just to get rid of the nightmares. Derek doesn’t answer her question and then she bites her lip in hesitance. “Do you want some company?”

 He shakes his head. “You have to get up early,” he says. Heather gives a small nod and Derek hears her slow steps up to her bedroom. Derek peels off his shirt and climbs into bed wearing nothing but underwear even though the room isn’t warm.                                                      

  + +

 Almost once a week, Derek finds his sleepless night accompanied by Heather. They watch the tv together and she talks about useless stuff and it’s a lot nicer than the nights when he’s alone. She’s good company, though Derek’s sure that he’s not the best person to have a conversation with.

 They talk about Stiles sometimes. About his stupid habits and the food he likes and Derek sees how much Heather loves him, cares for him, but sometimes Heather’s face closes down when she feels that Derek had something once with Stiles too.

 “He’s a good guy,” she says.

 “When he’s not being an asshole.”

 Heather laughs. “You should’ve seen him when I met him.”

 Derek looks down. That’s the last thing he wants to see; Stiles on his way to broken just because Derek made a stupid decision while he was at work that lead him into the hands of the people they were trying to catch.

 Heather gives him a sad look and heads off to bed. That week she spends an extra evening with him on the couch, and they hardly talk about Stiles or life, just watch the tv and complain about the quality of the advertisements that they mute.

\+ +

 “I heard you two have been having fun without me,” Stiles says, beaming between the two of them a few months later. Heather rolls her eyes and kisses Stiles’ cheek. “I can’t believe my two favourite people are getting along. It’s great.”

 They’re getting ready for a meal with Scott and Allison. Both of them drop by Derek during the day, sometimes because they want to and sometimes because Stiles has asked them to. Sometimes, if Allison has time, she’ll drop Derek off at his therapist and then pick him up again instead of a hospital worker coming in and taking him.

 He’s always a little tired or cranky after those sessions, but Allison never took his bullshit and she doesn’t now. She drops him home and stays for a few hours.

 Derek looks at the clock. Their guests are a little late.

 “Is Scott ever going to be your favourite person again?” Derek asks Stiles pointedly. Heather straightens, throwing her hands up and heading for the salad she was preparing. Stiles scowls at Derek.

 “I’ve seen him a few times,” he says stiffly. “And he’s coming around tonight, what more do you want, Derek?”

 He says nothing. Stiles glares harder at his silence.

 “You can’t just not talk about things when you don’t want to,” he hisses. “You’ve been doing that a lot recently.”

 “So you do want to talk about this,” Derek says.

 “What? No! Everything is fine with me and Scott.”

 He and Heather shoot him their own sceptical looks. Stiles looks down at his feet and grumbles.

 “Neither of you will be my favourites if you gang up on me,” he mutters, straightening when the doorbell rings. Stiles goes over, kissing Allison on the cheek and nodding at Scott. Allison looks beautiful as always, coming in and smiling brightly at Derek.

 They haven’t met Heather before and she looks nervous. Everyone is friendly enough and soon she relaxes, being the one to kick Stiles’ leg when he says something particularly rude. Derek doesn’t want to know what happened. He heard Scott’s run down version and hasn’t heard Stiles’. It’s between them.

 When dinner is over Heather and Allison offer to clean up and they send the rest of them into the living room. After a while Derek gets a little sick of the pair’s forced silence, each of them looking equally as guilty and equally as mad.

 The girls’ chatter stops as soon as Derek walks in.

 “Oh, good,” Allison says. “You’re not one of the drama queens.”

 Derek huffs. “This is ridiculous.”

 “They’ll get over it,” Allison tells him. “If Scott and I can get back together then I’m sure he and Stiles can get their since childhood friendship back on track.”

 Derek sits down at the kitchen bench, putting his head in his hands. “If I hadn’t –”

 Allison stops him instantly and her cold fingertips press his chin up. “No, Derek. Don’t. It doesn’t work like that. If you hadn’t gone away, yeah, they probably still would be the annoying little shits together that they were before. But if you hadn’t gone away then Scott and I probably wouldn’t have gotten back together.” She wrinkles her nose. “He missed you a lot, you know.”

 Derek gives her a hard look.

 She shrugs, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “If you want to believe it or not, that’s your business. But whatever mess Stiles and Scott got into is their own fault. Not yours.”

 “Here,” Heather says, placing a glass of water next to Derek. “We were just talking about how to get them to spend more time with each other.”

 He takes the water, letting it run down his throat. Allison stands close by him but doesn’t touch him as they talk about their plans to get Scott and Stiles to behave. Derek feels like his chest is shaking inside him and he tunes out what they’re saying but listens to the softness of their voices. He calms down.

 Heather smiles at him when he finally makes eye contact.

 At the end of the night Stiles and Scott seem to be speaking to each other a little more and they hug tightly at the door. A week later things seem even better for them. They speak more frequently, and it’s a lot less strained.

 Scott leaves one evening and once Stiles leads him to the door, he comes back and leans against Derek’s side, head resting against his shoulder. Stiles sighs with content, his arm hooking around Derek’s. He tries not to press into his warmth.

 “You’re amazing,” Stiles mumbles, closing his eyes.

 Derek looks up and he sees Heather right by the door, frozen. He swallows as her eyes scan the two of them before her and Derek’s gazes meet. Abruptly, she closes her mouth and turns back around.

\+ +

 “Do you want me to leave?” Derek asks her quietly, after one of their tv sessions and moments after she’s flicked the hallway light off. It’s something he’s been thinking about for a while, now that he’s getting better and making Stiles smile more. Now that they sometimes talk about things that happened before, things that Heather was never a part of.

 He hears her sigh echo through the room. The faint outline of her body moves when she shakes her head.

 “No, Derek,” she says, turning on her heel, going back up the stairs to Stiles.

\+ +

 He hears a thump come from upstairs. Derek looks up, but he ignores it, focussing on his physical therapy exercises. He’s putting on a fair bit of muscle, working towards being healthy again. There are a few, short sharp sounds at the edge of his hearing and Derek gets to his feet.

 When he gets to the upstairs bedroom the sound gets clearer, and it’s someone sobbing. Heather’s the only other one home and Derek moves faster, his own heart starting to beat harder, and he wants to comfort if he can but as soon as he sees what Heather’s looking at he stops, frozen.

 Her tears sound terrible. They sound like they’ve been settling in her for a while and they’re only just coming out. She’s found the loose floorboard in the room, she’s found Derek’s old hiding place. She’s found the photo album of memories, of happy times with all their friends, of smiles and laughs and kisses on cheeks. Heather’s found the soft velvet box, two gold bands inside.

 She spots him at the door and startles, spreading her wet tears over her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You guys have so much together,” Heather chokes out. “You were going to propose.”

 Derek swallows. “I’m not the same person. I’m different, broken; Stiles doesn’t deserve that.”

 Heather gives a high pitched laugh. She hiccups through her tears. “Stiles deserves what he wants. And he wants you.”

 He shakes his head. “I make him worry.”

 “He'd worry less knowing he's there to make you happy.”

 “You’re good for him,” Derek says quietly.

 “I’m in the way,” her voice is hard, like she’s trying to get herself back together. “I'm sorry, Derek, I have to go. I have to go. Don't, don't tell Stiles any of this, please, just, I can't be here right now.” She stands up, wobbling, before she grabs her hand bag and rushes past Derek. He doesn’t stop her.

 Shaking a little, Derek moves over and sits on the bed. He puts his head in his hands and out of the corner of his eye he sees the photos. Stiles looks so beautiful. So happy. Derek reaches out and closes the slightly dusty book, tying it up with its ribbon. He doesn’t bother opening the velvet box, and he replaces the floorboard and it’s like nothing ever happened.

 Derek thinks he’s the one in the way.

\+ +

 Derek’s cooking the dinner Heather had already started to prepare when Stiles gets home. He follows the recipe on their shared ipad and he burns the food a little but he gets it done. Stiles drops his bag when he comes in, faltering when he sees Derek in the kitchen.

 “Where’s Heather?” Stiles asks, his eyes darting about.

 Derek stands up straighter, gaze sharp. His lips feel dry and he’s not sure what to say to make things better. He knows he can’t tell Stiles what really happened; he respects Heather too much for it and he doesn’t want to put doubt in Stiles’ mind. Derek’s not sure how to convince Heather to come back.

 He ends up shrugging, turning back to the meal. “She got a phone call and then she left in a hurry.”

 Stiles is on his phone in a second, pacing in the kitchen. He rings twice, leaves a voicemail and rubs his face, worry shining in his eyes.

 “It’ll be okay,” Derek says, giving Stiles a soft smile. Stiles looks up at him, his face contorting as he stares at Derek’s expression. It’s not one he has seen recently.

 “God, Derek,” he shakes his head and snaps out of it.

 The phone starts to ring and Stiles picks it up instantly, turning away from Derek. He can hear her voice faintly through the speaker, even though Stiles has stepped away from him. She says she has to look after her mother, that she fell, and Stiles automatically announces that he’s going to make the three hour drive.

 “It’s fine, Stiles,” she sighs. “It’s just a little shock for her. You have your job to go to, okay?” Heather pauses. “And you can’t leave Derek.”

 “I need to come,” Stiles insists. “Be there for you.”

 Heather convinces him to stay. Derek serves him dinner, sitting opposite him at the table and they eat in silence. There’s a lot of stuff rushing around in Derek’s head, a lot more than normal, and he doesn’t want to give anything away to Stiles.

 He looks up again when he takes his last bite. Stiles is watching him carefully.

 “You worried about her?” he asks.

 Derek’s eyes widen in surprise. “Of course.” He pauses, and then says awkwardly, “I like Heather.”

 Stiles gives a slight smile. “Thanks for dinner, you didn’t have to do it.”

 “I really should help you two out more if I’m going to stay with you,” Derek tells him, standing up and taking their plates. Stiles doesn’t offer to help, just sits there and watches, face a little sad.

 + +

 Heather is gone a week. In that time, Scott comes over and so does Allison. Derek keeps what he knows to himself and he thinks about what’s under those floorboards, what he was once planning to give to Stiles. He would’ve said yes, Derek thinks, if he’d managed to ask him before he left.

 He takes Stiles out to the park. The air is mild and all they need is a light jacket. Stiles walks with his hands in his pockets and they go along Derek’s favourite jogging track, the one with the thick trees on either side of the path, leaves a bright gold this time of year.

 “You’re doing that more,” Stiles says.

 “What?” Derek asks, looking up.

 “Smiling. I heard you laugh last week too, at something Heather said.”

 Derek looks at the dirt ground. “Have you heard from her?”

 Stiles nods. “She’s coming back tomorrow.”

 + +

 She comes back and Stiles seems instantly relieved, his shoulders deflating as he kisses her cheek. He wraps his arms around her waist and Heather seems tired but hugs him back. “Hey,” she says.

 “Everything good?” Stiles asks.

 She nods. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

 Heather looks over at Derek. Their eyes meet and Derek feels his heart rise in his throat. She smiles faintly. “It’s fine,” she repeats to him, and Derek nods. He starts to relax. Derek thinks he hasn’t ruined anything until two weeks later, he finds Stiles sitting on the living room couch.

\+ +

  Stiles stares at the tv screen, miserable. In his fingers is a sharp, silver ring and Derek swallows. He moves to the fridge and hooks his fingers around the neck of two bottles. Derek drops down on the couch next to Stiles, offering the drink.

 He glances at him, trying to smile as he reaches for the bottle. Derek waits for him to speak.

 “She left me,” Stiles says hoarsely. “Says we can still be friends.”

 Derek wants to ask why, but he thinks he already knows. He twists so that he’s no longer facing Stiles and he keeps his gaze at the ground. His own bottle of beer sits in his hands, unopened. Stiles sighs next to him.

 “Want to watch the game?” Stiles asks and Derek nods. The game should be fine, for the both of them, and at least it’s not the chick flicks Stiles used to watch when he was upset. They don’t talk much and Derek doesn’t even know if he should be here. He spoiled something good for Stiles. Heather was a good thing.

 Stiles stretches on the couch and with the tips of his toes he gently nudges Derek’s thigh.

 “You’re doing that thing again,” he says softly.

 Derek blinks up at him and he stares for a long time.

 “I don’t know what you’re thinking but don’t think it,” he whispers, curling his back over and sitting closer. If it was before, Stiles would already have a comforting hand on his shoulder blade, or there’d be fingers running through his hair.

 Derek likes it now. He craves that affection – only from Stiles – but he doesn’t know how to ask for it. He spreads his knees slightly wider and it nudges Stiles. He smiles.

 “Heather said she’d still be here for us – for you, but she wants some space first.”

 “I’m sorry, I ruined it –”

 Stiles shakes his head and glares at him. His hands reach out, probably to cup Derek’s face, but he stops. “No, Derek, don’t do that. Just don’t.”

 Derek sighs, but he leans his body into Stiles’ and he feels Stiles thread their fingers together. Derek doesn’t know how long they stay in front of the tv and Derek thinks that maybe, finally, his eyes are starting to droop at a reasonable hour.

 Stiles yawns and stretches beside him, pulling Derek from his near slumber. He says he ought to go to bed and Derek doesn’t go up with him even though a part of him wants to. Derek lies in his own bed, fully awake now, and he thinks of Stiles upstairs, alone.

\+ +

 Stiles stumbles through the door giggling, and Derek looks up from the small print of his favourite novel. The door slams shut and Stiles’ face lights up when he sees that Derek’s still awake. He’s been fighting off sleep for as long as possible.

 “Derek,” he slurs.

 “Where’s Scott?” he asks back, closing his book.

 Stiles shrugs, kicking off his shoes and letting them slide across the floor. He inches over to Derek and plops himself on the couch, sprawling over Derek a lot more easily than he would if he was sober. “He wanted to get home to Allison,” he says, coming closer. “And I wanted to get home to you.”

 “Home?” Derek asks.

 Stiles gives a shy nod, palms cupping Derek’s face. His thumbs run over Derek’s cheeks, and when Derek blinks his eyelashes flutter over the tips of Stiles’ thumbs. Derek swallows and looks down, unsure. “I had, I had to come back and make sure you were real,” his words are a mess, barely coherent. “Tell me you’re real.”

 He edges onto Derek’s lap, knees bracketing his thighs. Derek’s heart flutters and he forces himself to keep Stiles here because he’s never going to get him here when he’s sober. It’s okay now, to have Stiles near. Anyone else, he couldn’t, but this way he can admire that soft flush over Stiles’ skin.

 “Tell me you’re real,” Stiles says again, pleading.

 “I’m real,” Derek breathes, threading his fingers through Stiles’. They look at each other, and Stiles’ smile has faded. He feels Stiles’ fingers twitch in his grasp and his eyes go wide before a single tear drops down his cheek.

 “Do you feel safe with me?” he mumbles. “Want you to feel safe. Don’t want you to leave again, don’t want anyone to leave – are, are you going to stay?”

 Derek nods, and somehow he manages to get Stiles upstairs. He seems content to do as Derek asks, staring at him a little bit in wonder and a little bit in fear, like Derek might disappear again. Stiles climbs into his pyjamas, showing off his beautiful, creamy skin, and Derek has to look away. He’s not allowed to simply look and take anymore.

 “Bed,” Derek says, and Stiles bites his lip, following his instruction. He peels back the covers and slides in, a nervous smile on his face as he taps the empty half of the bed. Derek blinks at it.

 “You’re warm,” he says. “Need you because you’re warm.”

 Derek can’t resist. He wants and he has to hold Stiles again even if he smells like beer. He pulls off his shoes, watching the way Stiles beams, and he climbs into the bed. Stiles doesn’t even ask if they can snuggle together, and Derek has to untangle Stiles’ limbs from him so he doesn’t feel suffocated.

 He turns them over instead so that Derek’s torso is curved around Stiles’ back. He feels Stiles relax into him and the block of warmth he brings is amazing. Derek’s missed it. He listens to the quiet sounds of Stiles falling asleep, his hand gripping tight at Derek’s.

\+ +

 The alarm wakes him up, a loud blare in his ears and it jolts him from the bed. Derek knocks over the phone and the lamp and it clatters to the ground, adding to the panic settling in. His hand grips at Stiles’ shoulder, fingernails pressing in as he tries to grab onto something, as he tries to pull Stiles from his sleep so that he’s not alone.

 Stiles wipes his eyes, his expression looking dark until he realises what’s going on. Gently, he removes Derek’s grip on him and with slow movements, he climbs over Derek and reaches for the alarm. The noise stops and Stiles’ bloodshot eyes search for Derek’s.

 “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I promise. Come on, Derek, breathe with me.”

 He watches Stiles’ lips move, and slowly Derek starts to pay attention to the way he counts their breaths, in and out. His breathing soon gets settled, though his body stays a little shaky. Derek reaches for Stiles, afraid that he’ll have pushed him away, but Stiles comes forward and melts into him.

 “I’m here,” he says, sleepily. “I’m here.”

 Derek runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair, taking in the way Stiles sighs into him. They manoeuvre themselves so that Stiles’ head rests in his lap, and Derek likes this gesture. They used to sit like this and speak about their tough days, and Derek would watch Stiles’ face and listen to him.

 “I’m sorry about the alarm,” Stiles tells him. “I should’ve remembered when I asked you to stay with me last night.”

 Derek snorts. “You were drunk.”

 “Yeah,” he says. “You, you should stop me if you can from going out with Scott and drinking. With Hea – when it’s just me here, it’s probably not good for me, I guess. I’m good now, don’t worry, it’s just sometimes easy to forget myself. But I haven’t talked with Scott properly for so long that I needed the drink to get rid of the awkward, you know? It was good after that, though. I missed him.”

 “Do you need to be somewhere?” Derek asks, thinking of the alarm.

 Stiles nods. “Lunch with my Dad.”

 Derek pauses. He hasn’t seen John in a long time. “Can I come?”

 Stiles sits up, maybe a little too fast, but he’s smiling brightly. He keeps on nodding as he climbs from the bed, looking excited. “I would love that. Dad wants to see you too.”

\+ +

 John looks a little younger than the last time Derek saw him. Retirement has eased the lines on his face, and his skin is darker like he spends a lot more time in the sun. He greets Derek with a warm smile, glancing nervously between him and his son.

 “I did visit you in the hospital, son,” John tells him. “When we first got the phone call you were back. We stayed until Stiles could come.”

 Derek swallows. “We?”

 “Heather got the call first.”

 They all look down at their menus. Derek likes Heather a lot. He knows John likes Heather a lot. He knows Stiles sometimes frowns at the door at around six o clock on a Friday night, the only night Heather had come home later than Stiles. Derek still can’t help but think he’s in the way.

 He feels Stiles nudge his knee with his own and Derek looks up. He’s met with a soft smile.

 “We should’ve done this sooner,” John says, giving a pointed look at his son. “Stiles insisted you weren’t ready.”

 Stiles groans and Derek snorts. “No one’s ever ready for anything. You figure out if you can handle it when it hits you.”

 John raises an eyebrow. “I thought you said he wasn’t very talkative.”

 “He’s never been talkative,” Stiles grumbles, and the way everything’s spoken it’s as if they’re all trying to keep everything light. There’s no way they can’t allude to Derek being gone. There’s no way they can forget about it, not when Derek has so much to catch up on with everyone’s lives passing by him.

 John cracks when they’re ready to leave. He draws Derek into a hug and it’s a little too tight for his liking, but John’s body feels stiff and like he never wants to let Derek go. Over his shoulder, Derek gets a look at Stiles and his eyes have watered. He turns his head when Derek sees him and when John pulls back Derek sees how their expressions mirror each other.

 “Don’t be a stranger, Derek,” John says, and Derek nods.

\+ +

 The phone rings late one night, when Stiles has already gone to sleep. Derek eyes it wearily before looking at the caller ID and seeing that it’s Heather. He’s busy making himself a cup of tea when he answers.

 “Derek?” she says.

 “Heather?”

 “Just wanted to make sure you’re all holding up okay,” she says quickly. “Are you watching that programme on the tv –”

 Derek interrupts her. “I’m fine. I’m always fine. You should talk to him, you know. Stiles misses you.”

 Heather sighs. “Yeah, I miss him too. I’m sorry for leaving you, Derek. Leaving the both of you.”

 He closes his eyes. Heather shouldn’t be the one apologising. No one should. The situation’s far too complicated for anyone ever to have to deal with, and he can’t hear her say sorry. Derek takes a sip of his tea and it burns his tongue a little.

 “Will we see you soon?”

 “Well, I have all my stuff to pick up,” she says with a small laugh. “Take everything out of the main bedroom.”

 Over the line there’s silence. Derek sighs. Heather wishes him a goodnight before hanging up.

\+ +

 Stiles does his best to help Heather pack everything up. Derek does all he can too, leaving for his appointments with Allison, and then coming back again to help. All four of them put things into boxes, trying to make it as easy as possible for everyone involved.

 Heather seems a bit overwhelmed, like she’s constantly trying to blink back her tears at how kind everyone’s being towards her. Stiles hugs her firmly when she leaves, asking if they can have lunch this week. She says yes.

 Allison comes over and smiles at Derek. “I like her a lot,” she says.

 “For leaving?”

 “For doing what’s best for her. It would have been too hard to stay, I think.”

 Derek looks at the floor. Everyone knows why she’s gone, and it’s so that he and Stiles can get back together. Can be them, how they were, together. That might be impossible, Derek’s changed quite a bit, but he cares so much for Stiles, and he has enough of himself together to be capable of simply being there for him.

 They still sleep in separate rooms, not that Derek sleeps much at all.

\+ +

 Derek thinks Stiles means it to be soft when it happens. They’re half up the stairs and Stiles has his fingers curled gently Derek’s wrist. His mouth quivers, his words broken and he tries to get Derek to stay with him upstairs.

 “I shouldn’t,” Derek says.

 “You should. It’s your bed.”

 Derek shakes his head because he needs more than sleeping alongside Stiles’ body. Maybe it’s a good idea, but maybe it’s not. Heather is gone, but whenever she visits Derek finds it hard to look her in the eye.

 “Derek,” whispers Stiles, eyes narrowing as he steps down to the same level as him. He swallows hard and stares Derek down, glancing down to Derek’s lips like they might hold some answer. His eyes turn dark and longing, and almost like he’s lost in his own head he hovers closer.

 He has enough time to push Stiles away and Derek doesn’t know if he’s ready for this yet, any desire that could pool inside him far away, but he lets Stiles near. This could be what he’s looking for – some kind of promise that means Stiles is his and he’s Stiles’.

 Stiles’ lips brush against his own, faint, but then he hears a harsh breath inwards and Stiles kisses him like he’s trying to catch Derek between his lips and never let him go. It feels good, and desperate, and it aches in his heart as Stiles’ thumbs come up and rest just under Derek’s jaw.

 “Derek,” his words rush out, and his hands try to cling to him a little tighter. He kisses Derek harder, pushing him against the wall and Stiles tries to hide a sob of longing, of how much he’s missed Derek, and when he pulls his lips from Derek’s he hovers there.

 Derek breathes in, feeling Stiles’ damp breath over his skin. Stiles has his eyes closed and his body still pressed against Derek’s. He wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist and holds him closer. He would’ve expected something different to happen, when this did happen, but now it’s him comforting Stiles as they stand together on the stairs.

 He lets Stiles pull him to their bed without another word. Stiles doesn’t smile, seems too tired to, and Derek climbs in around him. When he feels Stiles’ shaky breaths turn deep and long, Derek finds all the alarms in the room and turns them off even though Stiles has work in the morning.

\+ +

 Derek sleeps longer than he’s ever done but he still rises before Stiles. He gently pulls Stiles’ arms from around his body and tries to arrange him so that Stiles’ head rests on his chest, and it’s his arms locked around Stiles’ waist instead.

 There’s drool gathering at the corner of Stiles’ lips and it’s peaceful. Derek hasn’t felt that in a while but he feels it here, with Stiles, in their shared bed. Stiles shifts next to him when he wakes and when he gets a look at the time he narrows his eyes at Derek and wipes his face.

 “I do have a job, you know.”

 Stiles has his weight on one elbow while he pins Derek down with his stare. Derek ignores him and reaches forward, using one thumb to brush along Stiles’ lips. He blushes.

 “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, last night. To kiss you like that,” he says.

 “I didn’t mind.”

 “I want you to feel comfortable.”

 Derek sighs and drops his hand. Stiles sits up properly. “I – it was fine.”

 Stiles stares at him for a long moment. “I didn’t read the report, Derek. I didn’t want to. Heather read some of it and said I shouldn’t look at it. So I didn’t. I don’t know much about what happened to you, but if you want to talk about it, you can.”

 He averts his gaze to stare at the dark red curtains. They’re pulled open ever so slightly and a small strip of sunlight falls onto the bed. Derek looks down at it, trying to breathe deeply. He feels Stiles’ hand creep up to his own and soon there are feather light touches running in circles over his skin.

 “I feel comfortable with you.”

 “Yeah?” Stiles says, his eyes sad through his small smile.

 “Yeah.”

 “Don’t want to talk?”

 “I have a doctor for that.”

 Stiles snorts. “And do you talk to her?”

 Derek shrugs, rolling over and putting his nose to Stiles’ neck. He smells lovely, like warmth and home and the soap from his shower last night. They stay that way for a while until Stiles sighs.

 “Derek, I really do need to go to work.”

 He stays there and Stiles ends up reaching for his phone and calling in sick.

\+ + 

 They don’t kiss again but they do spend every night together upstairs. It feels so good, getting to hold Stiles close as they sleep. Nothing could feel better. His own body is getting healthier now that he’s sleeping more too, and Derek finds it easier to smile, to laugh when he can.

 Heather visits every other day. Most of the time Stiles isn’t at home and it’s in the middle of the afternoon in the couple of hours before Stiles finishes work.

 “You making each other happy?” she asks.

 Derek looks up at her. “Yeah,” he says.

 Heather tells him about where she’s currently staying – with one of her friends that Derek hasn’t met – and she talks a little bit about having to cancel the venue for the wedding now that it’s not happening. There’s not much to do, apparently, a lot of the planning got put off when Derek came back.

\+ +

 There’s a knock on the door one evening when the rain is pouring buckets outside. Stiles goes to answer the door, freezing before letting out a startled laugh and lurching forward to hug someone. Slowly, Derek rises and he heads over to the door.

 It’s Erica and his heart thuds. She gets one good look at him before pushing Stiles aside and throwing her arms around Derek’s neck. It takes a moment before he manages to wrap himself around her, and she still wears the same perfume, and she’s squeezing him tighter than anything.

 “Oh my god,” she says. “Oh my god.”

 Erica pulls back, straightening her damp hair.

 “You have never hugged me before,” says Derek.

 She shrugs. “Maybe I should’ve.” Erica grins a little and gestures behind her to the man in the doorway. “This is Boyd. I wanted him to meet you guys.”

 They’re all introduced and they let Erica talk about Paris and everything she’s doing there, how it was a perfect place to get away from everything for a while. Stiles laughs freely at her stories, moving back into Derek on the couch so that their legs become tangled. Derek rests his chin on Stiles’ shoulder.

 “I thought there was a girl,” Boyd says, eyeing them. Erica glares at him.

 “We should invite Heather around,” Stiles says. “You’d like her.”

 Erica raises an eyebrow. “Would I? Really, Derek?”

 He nods at her and she looks surprised. “Okay,” she says.

\+ +

 That night when they go to bed they lie facing each other, Stiles’ hands coming up to link with Derek’s. Their breathing slowly becomes in sync and Stiles’ thumb brushes over Derek’s knuckles. He moves up and presses a light kiss to Derek’s lips.

 Stiles pulls back, licking his lips and staring back at Derek. “I missed you so much,” he says. Derek doesn’t have to say he felt the same way and Stiles inches forward, aligning their bodies so that their lips hover only an inch from each other.

 It’s all a little bit surreal. Stiles’ touch is so soft, so caring, and Derek feels it down his spine and over his skin in a light tingle. He reaches forward and his hand goes around Stiles’ neck, drawing him near. They kiss, it slowly getting deeper, Stiles moving over Derek a little so that their chests are together and Derek is on his back.

 Stiles pulls back and Derek runs his palms under Stiles’ shirt, over his smooth skin and back down again. Stiles’ eyelashes flicker shut. “Missed this too,” he whispers.

 “Mm,” Derek says, arching a little to bring their lips together again. They kiss until their mouths are red and tingling, Stiles’ hair a mess, and their bodies too warm. Stiles slips off him and his eyes close.

 “Love you,” Stiles mumbles sleepily.

 + +

 They have a group dinner. John comes, Scott comes, Allison comes, Erica and Boyd are there and Heather is the last one to arrive with one of her friends. She gives them all a small smile, going up to Stiles’ father and giving him a hug.

 It’s nice. It’s everything Derek thought he could never have. He thinks about the rings upstairs, about the album full of memories and he’s glad he can make new ones with everyone here. Throughout the night it sometimes feels like there are too many people, but they give him his space, and Stiles comes up and puts his arms around Derek’s middle.

 “Hey,” he says, voice soothing. He reaches around and kisses Derek’s cheek once, then his lips quickly. “You good?”

 Derek nods, and for once he’s not lying.

\+ +

 Erica approaches him at the end of the evening, Boyd in the kitchen talking to Stiles. She glances at her painted nails, suddenly shy, so unlike the Erica Derek had worked with. She gives him a tentative look.

 “I think,” she says. “I mean, I want to, I want to move back here. Boyd would move here too, we’d get married here, we’d be around you guys again.”

 Derek blinks. He wonders what the catch is, why she’s twisting the small rock on her finger, why she isn’t being loud and happy. He takes a step closer, staring at her expectantly.

 She scowls. “I just wanted to figure out whether or not you wanted me here,” Erica says to him.

 “Why wouldn’t I?”

 “Because well, you know ...” she trails off.

 Derek doesn’t know exactly what she’s talking about. He could guess, but he doesn’t want to. He realises that he’s got to make it seem okay for her, that she’s dealing with more guilt than anyone here.

 “I want you here,” Derek says quickly. “I want you to do whatever you want to do.”

 She grins. “Cool,” she breathes. “Since you’re not working or anything, you’re totally helping me plan this thing. I want it big. I want a big, fat wedding, and I want you there with everyone else.”

 Derek swallows and opens up his arms, slowly moving them out. Erica glances at them and she bites her lip, eyes sparkling a little before she rushes forward and puts herself in Derek’s arms.

\+ +

 Derek wakes and stretches out on the bed. His palms move over flat sheets to find nothing but the edge of the mattress. He opens his eyes and sits up too quickly, his pulse a steady thrum in his ears. It isn’t normal for him to wake up before Stiles does, and he already feels his hands start to sweat.

 “I’m here,” Stiles says quietly. Derek looks at the end of the bed, and Stiles is perched on the floor, a strange look on his face.

 Derek rubs his eyes and sits up properly, paying more attention to Stiles. He seems a little lost in what he’s looking at, eyes distant, and then Stiles lifts his hand, long fingers stretching out before he slips on a loose, gold band.

 Derek makes a noise. Stiles turn to him instantly.

 “Do you still want this?” he asks.

 “Stiles,” Derek says, beginning to panic.

 He climbs onto the bed properly, his feet getting tangled in the sheets. “I don’t, it’s not. I’m not expecting anything from you, Derek. I just, I didn’t know you wanted this, before, and I thought about it for months back then and I had no idea how to bring it up.” He smiles, small. “I love you so much.”

 Derek swallows. “Stiles, I’m not. I’m different. You don’t want to marry me.”

 He gets glared at, and Stiles looks more beautiful than ever. Something flickers in his eyes, something strong, something that Derek hasn’t seen in a while. He’s angry.

 “You don’t get to decide that, Derek. I still love you, I still want you.”

 Derek shakes his head, looking at his fingers. Stiles’ face falls and he scrambles to his feet.

 “You’re different,” he says flatly.

 “Yes.”

 Derek refuses to look at him. He can’t, he can’t make Stiles commit to something like this, can’t let him mistake what he wanted before for something he wants now. Stiles stares at him in silence, his expression dark.

 Derek feels his skin prickle and he shrinks into the wall as every second passes.

 “Have you ever thought,” Stiles says. “That I’m different too?”

 He looks up.

“What did you think, Derek?” he yells. “That I just sat around, found Heather, and moved on, just like that? I was a mess! You were gone and I didn’t know what to do with myself, and if you think I’m the same then you’re an idiot because I’m not. I’m not.”

 His voice shatters at the end of his words, spit at the corner of his mouth. Stiles’ eyes look frantic and Derek can’t move. He feels locked in position, waiting for Stiles to dish out what he’s feeling. Stiles’ hands unclench at his sides, his mouth parting as he stares at Derek.

 “Are you okay?”

 Derek says nothing. He tries to breathe, tries to calm down. Finally, he nods.

 Slowly, Stiles takes the ring off his finger and he sets it down on the bedside table. It’s far too early in the morning, but Stiles strips, gets dressed, and leaves the house. He barely says goodbye.

 + +

 “Why are you down here?” Stiles says, coming into the spare bedroom and turning on the light. It startles Derek from his thoughts and he swings his legs around the bed to sit up. He didn’t even hear Stiles come home.

 “All my things are still down here,” Derek says slowly.

 Stiles gives him a pinched look. He covers his face with his hands and then strides in, barely looking at Derek. “Fine,” he says. “We’ll move them.” He opens the drawers and stuffs handfuls of clothes into his arms, Derek watching him from the bed. He hears Stiles’ footsteps up the stairs.

 There’s a trail of fallen clothes leaving the room once Stiles is done. Derek hears the shower sound and he sighs, getting to his feet and heading to the main bedroom, to their bedroom. A miserable pile of his belongings sits in the middle of the floor, barely hiding the photo album.

 Derek hears the shower sound and he climbs into the cool sheets, waiting.

 “We’re us,” Stiles says when he comes in. “I don’t care what you think, we’re still us.” His hair is wet and over his face, dripping down his neck as he throws on boxers and a random t shirt. It’s one of Derek’s.

 Stiles’ voice is hard, but it covers his pleading, like all he wants is for Derek to understand.

 Derek nods, quiet. Stiles barely catches the movement except he’s looking hard for it. He collapses backwards on the bed, legs hanging off the edge. It’s already too warm in the room, the lick of tension driving Derek a little mad as he listens to the sound of Stiles’ harsh breathing. He waits for Stiles to come back up the bed and to him.

 “I love you,” Derek says, breaking the silence.

 Stiles rolls onto his stomach, hoisting himself up on his elbows. He stares at Derek.

 “Come here,” he says, but he comes forward instead, pressing his forehead into Derek’s shoulder. Derek can feel his hot, damp breath through his shirt and Stiles leans even closer, pressing his lips there for a second. He rolls over and closes his eyes, ready for sleep.

 Derek sinks down the bed, wanting to hold him. He doesn’t. It takes too long before he can bring himself to close his eyes.

\+ +

 He finds himself at Scott’s. This morning Stiles had left with a mumbled goodbye, fingers brushing Derek’s shoulder before he was out the door. It wasn’t enough to calm Derek down. He had picked up the photo album, fingers trembling, and he had opened it for a few minutes before he placed it on Stiles’ bedside table.

 It’s not something he wants to hide from anymore.

 Scott is surprised when he opens his front door. “Derek? Is everything okay?”

 Derek sighs but he nods, trudging inside. He makes his way to the couch, aware of Scott watching him.

 “I thought Allison was going to drop you home after your appointment today,” he says.

 Derek shrugs. “I told her to drop me here.”

 Scott heads out to the kitchen and brings out some food and water. Derek reaches for it straight away and they eat in silence, Derek wondering a little about why he’s here. He needs to talk to someone. Someone who isn’t his therapist, someone who actually knows him, actually knows Stiles.

 He tells Scott about the rings.

 “What, what do I do?” Derek says, trying to keep a hold of himself.

 “I don’t know,” says Scott. “He’s probably freaked that you’re going to leave again.”

 Derek straightens. “I’m not, I would never –”

 “Yeah,” Scott says with a small smile on his face. “You know that. He probably knows that. He just needs to be reassured. You sound like you’re saying stuff that’s doing the opposite of that.”

 Derek looks away, throat feeling tight and sore.

 Scott shuffles forward. “And he knows what he’s doing, Derek.”

 Scott’s words sit with him while they turn on the tv and watch some nonsense. Derek thinks of Stiles, thinks about how much he loves him and how much he wishes things will be okay for the both of them. He thinks about Stiles, alone, without any of his friends and without Derek.

 It makes him feel sick. It makes him more grateful to Heather than ever.

 Derek doesn’t want to be alone so he stays at Scott’s until he drives him home.

 “Can you ask Stiles if we’re still on for this weekend?” he asks.

 Derek nods.

 He slips inside, the door already unlocked. Derek frowns, but he hears a thud of footsteps come down the stairs once he closes the front door. It’s Stiles, and he seems a little panicked. When he spots Derek he sinks into the nearest chair and puts his head in his hands.

 “You weren’t here,” his voice is muffled.

 Derek steps closer. “You’re home early,” he says softly, looking at the clock.

 Stiles nods. “I wanted to see you.” He looks up, eyes wet. “Sorry, I, sorry.” He stretches his arms out, reaching for Derek, and Derek goes over, kneeling on the floor and coming in close. Stiles’ hands travel through his hair, scratching along his scalp and Derek groans, pressing his head closer to Stiles’ chest.

 Stiles lets out a breath.

 “You don’t have to marry me, Derek. You don’t have to. I just want you to stop thinking that I want you any less, or that you’re a burden, or that I’m going to change my mind,” he says quickly, hands still in Derek’s hair. “You’re everything to me, everything, okay?”

 Derek nods, lifting his head so he can look Stiles in the eye.

 “Okay,” he says.

 Stiles’ muscles slacken in relief. He smiles and then leans forward, pressing a kiss to Derek’s temple.

\+ +

  Things feel a lot brighter now. They meet up for lunch with John, Heather joining them. Derek sits at the end of the table, listening to their conversation. It’s nice. Heather has a small smile on her face the whole time and she nudges Derek halfway through the meal, catching his eye.

 He returns her smile as best he can.

 John gives them both a fond look. “I’m glad the two of you are friends.”

 “Me too,” Stiles chirps. He looks down to his lap, fiddling with something. He scowls.

 “What’s wrong?” Heather asks.

 Stiles shrugs, muttering a little to himself. “Just trying to get this camera to turn – aha!” He grins, eyes bright, and waves his hand for the three of them to lean in together. Heather frowns at him.

 “Are you sure you don’t want me to take the photo?”

 Stiles nods. “Super sure.”

 They huddle together, Derek in the middle of the other two. There’s little space but it doesn’t last long and Stiles beams at the photos he takes, flicking through them.

\+ +

 One afternoon, the sun is streaming through the kitchen windows. Derek steps in, feeling at ease, and he spots the photo album waiting on the counter. His fingers brush the light green cover, his pulse quickening. Derek carefully opens it and only the first few pages are full.

 He lets out a breath, seeing the photos Stiles has been taking over the last few weeks. He’s taken some of the photos Derek had recorded from before, interlaced them with the images of their friends now. He sees a picture of Heather, of John, of Erica and Boyd.

 “Hey,” Stiles says, coming down the stairs. His smile looks nervous.

 “What’s this?” asks Derek.

 He rolls his eyes. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

 Derek looks up at him, eyes hopeful.

 “And then,” Stiles whispers, weaving himself under Derek’s arms so that his back is pressed against Derek’s chest. Derek leans forward, puts his nose in Stiles’ hair and inhales. It smells good. It smells like home. “I have a few more upstairs for when we fill this one up.”

 “And the rings?” Derek asks.

 “For whenever you’re ready,” Stiles says, twisting around, Derek’s hands bracketing him either side of the counter. Stiles leans forward and presses a light kiss to Derek’s lips, thumbs moving down his jaw. Looking at him, Derek feels that despite everything, things will be okay.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading:) I hope you all enjoyed it.
> 
> Here's my [tumblr.](http://matildajones.tumblr.com)
> 
> Let me know if you think something else should be tagged.


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